


The Glorious End of The Line

by RimauSuaLay



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Angst, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-15
Updated: 2010-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:05:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RimauSuaLay/pseuds/RimauSuaLay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kris knows Adam is at sea, but tries to bring him home anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Glorious End of The Line

**Author's Note:**

> The story is set in the near future, and deals with a political/historical event that will hopefully never ever happen. Am not trying to jinx anything and this is definitely not an encouragement, just fiction.

  
Kris loves the little island more than he probably should.

There are all the typical cliches of a tropical paradise: blue-green water that's always warm, white, soft sand, coconut trees dotting the landscape. The hut looks rather rustic from the outside, but there's a small generator behind it, providing electricity, and since there's a level of remorse even Adam won't sink to, there's indoor plumbing. It's calm and beautiful, with surprisingly few nasty insects and next to no visitors.

He's been here for two weeks now, and hasn't seen anyone except for a guy named Jack who flew him in from the mainland. It was a bumpy ride, and Jack seemed like a pilot who wasn't too concerned about things like turbulence or safety measures. By the time they'd reached the island, Kris had been holding onto his seat with a white knuckled grip, hands cramping for hours afterwards. Jack'll be back in a day or so, to deliver some (screened) mail and groceries, leaving it all by the small warehouse so he won't bother anyone.

If Kris wants to go with him, he's welcome. No one's going to stop him.

Kris doubts he's ready for another trip though, and ot just because of fear for his life. He's not ready to leave yet.

There's no reception here, at least on his cell phone, and he knows there are exactly two people in the whole world who know the number of Adam's satellite phone. Kris knows Leila calls like once a week, mostly because Adam's even more withdrawn after each call, but they don't talk about it.

He could use the phone to call home if he wanted to, or maybe his PR people. Not that he really would. Home isn't what it once was, not the same place, not the same person, and after the sales for his album... well, right now that doesn't really mean squat.

Sitting on the pale sand that should feel more intrusive against his bare skin, but instead feels warm and nice, he leans back and watches the birds fly overhead.

Adam is near the waterline, walking slowly back towards him. It's a ritual by now, one they go through every day before sunset. Kris sits on the beach, pretending to be lost in thought, trying not to watch Adam run on the moist sand. He doesn't usually bother pretending he's not watching, but somehow it's different out here.

Inside the cabin, they have a purpose for all the looks and touches and even the silences. Out here, there is only one thing, so evident in everything, in every grain of sand and the almost eerie quiet surrounding the island.

A perfect hideaway.

Adam always walks by Kris without saying anything. So this time Kris almost jumps out of his skin when he feels someone sit down next to him, almost close enough to touch.

He turns his head a little to glance at Adam, but doesn't ask anything. They don't talk much these days. He sees Adam taring at the horizon, face unreadable. Adam's skin is tanned, golden, the side of his face Kris can see peppered with freckles.

Kris remembers seeing them the first time when Jack's plane was already on its way back to the mainland, Adam standing in the doorway so lost and angry and shattered, and all Kris could do was stare, at Adam's clothes, his hair, his freckles. Even then he hadn't said anything, just dropped his bag and took those few steps to hug Adam tight.

When Adam had wrapped his arms around him, lightly and not really hugging back, he'd almost cried. But at least Adam hadn't told him to go away.

Adam hadn't really told him anything, except the platitudes you offered someone who invaded your home without being invited, when you were too polite, or too desperate to drive them away. _The sheets are over there. You can sleep on the couch. Jack will be back in two weeks._

Not that Kris expected there to be more, but he had kind of hoped. It hadn't been like this when he'd bunked on Adam's couch the last time, rumpled and sad and recently divorced. He remembered how Adam had given him space, but they had talked, about insignificant things until he'd been ready for the bigger ones.

Now it's like Adam's lost his voice, and doesn't even try to get it back. Kris sighs. Maybe it's a form of self punishment, like he's traded all that was before to the solitude and the sand. The sea doesn't care, has no memories, and that, like this whole hideaway should be a laughable cliche, and yet Kris can't muster even a smile.

Adam lets out a sigh, and then says softly, almost too quiet to hear, "He will be back tomorrow."

"Oh." Kris feels a hot surge of disappointment, and can't hide it. "Okay."

He doesn't have to ask what Adam's talking about. His two weeks are up, all this time he'd planned on using to pull Adam back to the land of the living wasted in the hesitation and silence. He's always been good with words, with comfort, but some things are beyond anything he could possible say.

That's what Neil had said when Kris called him after the state funeral, when he'd got tired of the overall grief and the speeches and the waiting. He hadn't been ready to listen to any of the evasive crap Neil had spouted, and after the call had ended with Neil simply hanging up on him, he'd called back, and called and called and _called_ until he was sure Neil would come visit just to bash his phone through his face. It's what _everyone_ had said. Well, almost everyone. After months of pestering anyone he could think of and making himself an overall nuisance, he'd finally found someone who'd listened, someone to believe in him.

Adam's mom hadn't said a thing, she'd simply handed him a folded piece of paper with an address, with weird directions that included the flight schedule, and the name of the bar Jack the pilot spent most of his time. Her eyes had been bright with tears when he'd thanked her with a shaking voice.

She didn't tell him to look after her son, or to bring him back. Kris was glad, because while he could try the former, he was pretty sure no power on earth could bring Adam back to the world. Not now, when too little time had passed.

Though Kris is beginning to wonder if there could ever be enough time to heal this.

He wants to ask Adam if he wants him to go tomorrow, but it would be kind of pointless. They sit down together at meals, the only sound the clatter of metal against porcelain. Adam putters around the hut and Kris tries to stay out of his way and still be useful. Kris sits on the beach and watches Adam run, watches Adam dive into the waves, exhausted and sweaty, and then just sits there as Adam walks back to the hut, face wet from the salt water.

At night, he lies on the surprisingly comfortable couch and listens to the sound of insects, trying not to pay attention to the pained sounds coming from the bedroom. He'd tried to go to Adam that first night, but the flimsy bamboo door had been locked, and Kris can take a message.

Now he wishes he'd tried harder.

"You'll be leaving, then." It's an offhand quip, not even a real question.

Kris is shocked by the casual sound of Adam's voice, because that was practiced, like the easy congeniality in front of a camera, and not what he was used to when they were alone.

It makes him wonder if there's some hope yet.

"No." Lifting his hand, Kris lets it hover near Adam's arm for a moment before dropping it back on the sand. He doesn't want to risk Adam flinching away. "I'm not planning on leaving."

Adam seems to accept that as a fact, but he doesn't look at Kris, eyes focused on the distance.

After a moment, Kris looks at the horizon too, hoping there'd be some answers there. But there's just the sea and the sky, and a small speck that is probably a boat, too far away to be really seen. There's the sound of the waves, birds circling over head, calling to each other with wailing tones, and yet there's a suffocating silence, unlike any they have shared before.

There are lots of things Kris thinks about on those terms these days. Things that they had before it all went so horribly wrong. He had a friend before, Adam had a career before. They'd had lives that sometimes resembled a circus, clowns and all, but it had been good. Even after Katy, after the sales went crappy, it hadn't been bad.

"Why?"

Kris wants to shake Adam, just to stop him from using that tone on him. It's not better than the silence, somehow it's worse, it's like hiding and lying.

He wants to say so many truths right now. Remind Adam how he'd stood by Kris when Katy left, remind Adam of the friendship, the love. Repeat all the things he'd heard from dozens of people, from his own parents to Leila Lambert to doctor Phil; that it wasn't Adam's fault. No more than it had been Jodie Foster's when the maniac had targeted Reagan, or Salinger's that Chapman had shot John Lennon. He wants to say something that would make it all good and perfect, that will jolt Adam out of this, and there is nothing that he can say, nothing at all.

So he goes with a simple, "Because this is where I want to be." It's no less true than any of the other stuff, and maybe Adam can hear that.

He doesn't need anything more complicated than this, though coming here meant turning his back on everything he knew. It hadn't been a tough decision. He'd made tougher ones ages ago. Adam's the one he wants to be with.

Slowly, Adam turns to look at him, and his gaze searches for something in Kris' eyes. His face is wet, but it's not from the sea water. "Okay," he finally says, voice breaking a little at the end of that single word.

Kris wants to reach out, to hold Adam. To wrap his arms around him and never let go, maybe plant a kiss on his cheek, a chaste one, like all the kisses they have ever shared, or to finally gather his courage and _kiss_ him, take the first step Adam will never take. But all that can wait; he wants that to be all about love and not comfort.

"Thank you."

It's a soft sigh, and Kris wonders if he's only imagining it. Adam is turning to stare back at the sea, lips quivering slightly, so maybe he heard right. He's proven right a moment later when Adam's hand touches his, hesitantly, then fingers grasp his in an almost painful grip. Only skin and calluses, so unlike the hands Kris remembers, with nail polish and rings, but they're real, reaching out, and he bites his lip hard. Inside, he mutters a little prayer of thanks.

"I don't know if I can..." Adam mutters so quietly he can barely hear.

The words are almost on his lips before he swallows down, the overly optimistic _not alone, but together, yes, we can_ that would not offer any consolation or affirmation. It would be a painful reminder of what they have lost, of the madness and violence and nothing more.

Instead, he squeezes Adam's hand tighter.

When Adam sighs and relaxes, leaning on his shoulder with his face half buried against his neck, he closes his eyes. So maybe it is silly and he has no basis for such hope, but deep inside he knows they can survive this, that he can help just by staying here, even if he can never find words good enough or strong enough to take the guilt away.

He'll try them all some day. Until then, this is enough.

They sit there for a long time, the breeze chilly as the sun sets. Kris is perfectly content on missing the beauty of the tropical sunset. There will be other nights. He loves this little island, but not because of the sea or the sand, but because Adam is here. It feels like home.  



End file.
